I'm reading Twilight by Stephenie Meyer. Mickey, a former student of mine entering 8th grade in the fall, said it was the best book she'd ever read. Ever. She loved it so much that she slowed down the pace of her reading because she didn't want it to end. So when I found myself with an hour to kill in the Cell Phone Waiting Lot at Logan Airport yesterday, I reached into my World's Greatest Teacher tote bag and pulled out the copy of Twilight I've been dragging around for the last month.
At first, I was distracted by all the "-ly" words. Quickly, sheepishly, gruffly, immediately, unwillingly, brightly, precariously, convincingly, hopefully, finally, gradually, tentatively, apprehensively, vaguely, excessively, devastatingly, quickly, critically, reluctantly, surreptitiously, inconspicuously, occasionally, loudly, carefully, exceptionally, quickly, appreciatively. Did I mention quickly? Things happen quickly in Meyer-world. A lot.
Okay, so the writing isn't anything to write home about. What about the characters? Bella annoyed me, and Edward's intensity was laughable.
I decided to stop reading like a writer, and start reading like a girl caught between 7th and 8th grade. I gave my inner critic the rest of the day off. I read past the adverbs and forced myself into Bella's head. My 13-year old self loved this book. I found Edward leap-frogging over Paul McCartney and Davy Jones to land at the top of my adolescent dream-boyfriend list.
That said, there are so many great books out there and so little time to get through them, I'm not sure if I'm going to finish this one or not. I know my 13-year old self wouldn't have closed the book before reaching the end. I can't say the same for my 53-year old self.